


and i never saw you coming

by annemari



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Anonymity, Love Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annemari/pseuds/annemari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first message said, <i>You're not too bad on the radio, Grimshaw.</i> There was a star glued at the end of the sentence. That was it. That was all it said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i never saw you coming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [tumblr fic meme](http://underthisweather.tumblr.com/post/86138820184/queenitsy-ruingaraf-i-saw-this-list-of-30), prompted by **fiarra**. Thank you so much to **trinityclare** and **Hllangel** for betaing and **sunsetmog** for britpicking!  <333 Title from Taylor Swift's "State of Grace".

"This is mad," Nick says. "Like, this is actually insane, right? It's not just me?"

"I don't know," Daisy says, reading the last note. "Some of these are kind of sweet, aren't they?"

"They're _creepy_ ," Nick says. "Look at this one."

He hands Daisy the note that says, _Your arse looks pretty good, I suppose._

Daisy raises her eyebrows. "Well, your arse does look good, love."

"That's not the point," Nick says. "And my arse looks fabulous." Well, it doesn't, really, but his legs do and his arse isn't that far behind. He's quite fond of it. "It's just creepy. Who is this person? How do they have my address? Should I call the police?"

"Hmm," Daisy says. "When did you start getting these again?"

Nick shrugs. "A couple of weeks ago?"

He'd found the first message in the post one Saturday. There was a nice envelope and Nick's address was printed on the front. No return address, which didn't seem important. Until Nick opened it, of course. The first message said, _You're not too bad on the radio, Grimshaw._ There was a star glued at the end of the sentence. That was it. That was all it said. The other side was blank. The note itself was handwritten, which didn't make sense to Nick, because surely it was harder to print on envelopes.

He'd looked at the card and assessed that it didn't sound threatening or anything, just odd. It stuck with him for the day, but he forgot about it soon after that.

Until the next one. It came the following Wednesday.

_Your hair doesn't look as stupid as it could have done._

That one really made Nick pause. It was _almost_ a compliment. Whilst also being really nasty.

He thought about throwing it out, but for some reason, he left it on the hall table. He also thought about mentioning it on the show, or tweeting about it, but he forgot. No surprise there.

He got the third message that Friday, though.

_I wouldn't be completely opposed to getting off with you. With the lights off, of course._

Nick started at that one in vague shock. Who the _fuck_? He checked the envelope but there was nothing new there, they all looked the same. He cautiously put it with the others and texted Pixie. _someone is sending me creepy anon notes what do i do?_

 _don't read them :(_ came Pixie's response. Nick rolled his eyes.

 _wait creepy how?_ she followed up.

_like. creepy. sexy. they're sending them to my house_

_what?? don't open them. have to go, call me later_

Nick rolled his eyes. So much for that. 

He _was_ going to call Pixie later to complain, but then he went out with Alexa and Daisy and forgot. He thinks he complained about the messages to them, but honestly, he'd forgotten a lot of that night, so he's not entirely sure.

The notes started coming more frequently, though, and got more...flirty? Was this person trying to flirt with him or just trying to creep him out?

He called Daisy over after the last message. _You're really fucking annoying. I probably wouldn't kick you out of bed though._ He was so done with this.

"Look," Daisy says. "He's put a heart on this one. Did you see?"

Nick looks over. It's the one that says, _You look cute with glasses. Shame about the rest of the face, though._

"Ugh," Nick says. " _Creepy._ "

"Well," Daisy says, wrinkling her nose. "Yes."

"Also how do you know it's a he?"

"Just guessing," Daisy says. "Handwriting."

"Yeah, that," Nick says. "Why would they _write_ them?"

"Personal touch?"

Nick shudders. "Ew. Revolting. Ugh."

"You haven't mentioned these on the radio, have you?" Daisy asks.

"No, I was going to," Nick says. "But then they got, like, weird."

"Well I'm sure they're listening," Daisy says. "Maybe if you tell them to please stop?"

Nick stares at her. "You can't possibly believe that will work."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "No. But it's worth a shot. Unless you want to go to the police now. I'm just saying, they're creepy, yes, but they're not too sexual, at least. Could be worse. A lot worse."

Nick makes a sympathetic face. "Yeah, I suppose. So you think I should?"

"Go for it," Daisy says.

Nick stares at the pile of cards. There are around ten at this point. It's so fucking weird. "Can't hurt, I guess."

Daisy pats his hand. "Let me know if you get any more. Or if you get freaked out. We'll sort it out, yeah?"

Finally something that sounds vaguely comforting. Nick sighs. "Thanks."

"No problem. Do you want to come over to mine later? I'm making biscuits."

"Yes," Nick says fervently. "Please."

He throws the card he's holding ( _Why do you have such stupidly long fingers?_ ) on top of the others and vows to not think about it any more tonight.

~

Nick only remembers he was planning on mentioning the letters on air when they're well into Showquizness.

"Hey, here's a funny story," he says. "Mark, you wanna hear this?"

"Yeah, go on," the caller says.

"Well the story is this," Nick says. "I've been getting these weird anonymous notes."

Finchy gives him an alarmed look.

"What, like threats?" Fiona asks. She manages to make it sound light, but Nick can tell she's serious about it.

"No, no, no," Nick says. "Nothing at all like threats. They're like compliments? Kind of?"

"What do you mean, kind of?" Ian asks.

"Well, I think they're _meant_ to be compliments. But they kind of sound like insults."

"Like what?" Matt asks.

"Like. Your face doesn't look as bad as it could do." He chuckles nervously. "What does that even mean?"

"That you could look worse?" Ian suggests.

"That's not very nice, is it?" Fiona asks.

"Isn't it like a thing?" Matt asks. "Where you insult someone and then compliment them so they'll go out with you?"

"I don't know," Nick says. "That sounds a bit mental. What do you think, Mark?"

"A bit creepy," Mark agrees. "But they're not really insults, right? Sounds like someone's just having fun?"

"Yeah, but they're sort of freaking me out," Nick says. "I mean, I get them in the mail."

"What?" Fiona and Ian echo together.

"What, here at the BBC?" Matt asks.

"No, at home," Nick says. "So, like—"

"So they know where you live?" Ian asks.

"I don't know!" Nick says. "Apparently? They're not going to murder me in my sleep, are they?"

"Are you sure it isn't one of your friends?" Fiona asks.

"Maybe," Nick laughs. "That would be well embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

"Probably just a fan," Matt says calmly.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm sure it's fine," Nick says. "Just maybe. Like. Stop sending them? Please? Or at least sign your name. Include a return address. Something. Anyway, we should have the last question now! Tune in tomorrow to see if I've been murdered in my sleep!"

Matt moves them on with Showquizness and Nick feels a bit lighter, getting it off his chest. Maybe the notes _will_ stop.

~

He gets home that day to a new one. Makes sense, the stamp says it was sent yesterday. The only thing Nick can tell from the envelopes is that it's someone from London. Which adds to the whole "hope you're not coming to kill me" thing, a bit.

This one says, _Your laugh is stupid. :( I don't want to get off with you at all. Especially not with the lights on._

Nick sighs and throws it with the rest. Whoever this person is, he hopes they a) aren't planning to kill him; and b) get over their weird _thing_ for him. It's completely doing his head in.

~

Harry texts him that night, a happy, _heeeeeeyy, Nicholas xxx_

Nick smiles down at the phone. _hey, popstar. you okay?_

 _great,_ Harry says. _do you have time for a chat?_

 _of course_ Nick sends. He doesn't exactly expect Harry to call him, but he answers immediately.

"Hey," Harry says, voice cheerful enough. "How are you?"

"Good, good," Nick says. "You good? I thought you were busy working in LA?"

"Yeah, I am," Harry says. "Really busy."

"Really busy driving your motorcycle around and playing golf?"

"Heyyy," Harry says. "We're technically on holiday. I don't _have_ to be writing."

"Oh, the hard life of an international popstar," Nick teases. "Writing music, lounging about in the sun. Horrible."

"Shut up," Harry says fondly. "How are you, really?"

"Well, the weather here is terrible," Nick says. "As always. Longing for a beach holiday, me. Good, though, all good. No complaints."

"You sure?" Harry asks, and his voice sounds different now. More concerned and...guilty?

"Yeah?" Nick asks. "Why?"

"Just, Gemma was listening to the show this morning—"

"Oh, because you can't be bothered to?"

"I was _out_ ," Harry says, laughing. "It starts after ten pm here. Anyway. Gemma said you've been getting some notes from a secret admirer?"

Nick winces. "Less secret admirer, more creepy insult...type...person."

Harry makes a concerned noise. "She said you get them at the house?"

"Yeah," Nick says. "Which is probably the creepiest part, the fact that they know where I live. The notes—well, I've had worse. They're not threatening or anything. Just weird."

"Hmm," Harry says. "So what do they say?"

"Just stuff like...Uh. Like, 'You actually look quite fit when I take my glasses off.' Or, 'I can't believe you made me listen to Miley, you fucker.' God, Harry, they're so _weird_. Like, what does this person want from me? They're not going to kill me in my sleep, are they? God, they're totally going to kill me in my sleep."

"No," Harry says. "No, no, I doubt that. I really don't think they want to do that. Um, when did you start getting them?"

"A couple of weeks ago," Nick says. "Hasn't been that long, really."

"Okay, that's good," Harry says. He sounds distracted. "I've got to go, okay, Grim? Let me know if you get any more or something, yeah? Talk to you soon."

"Uh, bye," Nick says, and Harry ends the call. Odd. Very odd.

Nick stares at the phone a bit before opening Twitter and writing, "It doesn't really matter if the lights are on or off when you don't know what someone looks like, right?"

He doesn't look through his replies, scrolling through his feed instead before heading to Instagram. There's nothing much there either. He posts a picture of his laptop where Simpsons is open, a "see, I'm in bed already!" to Finchy, then closes it and settles in. The cards will stop coming soon. Really.

~

The next day he gets two notes. One is longer than usual and says, _I would probably try to climb you like a tree if I was drunk enough. I mean I'm pretty drunk right now, but never mind that. Anyway, I got that from the internet._

The other one reads, _I'm sorry. I won't send any more._

Right then. That's that sorted.

~

He doesn't get a note the next day—obviously, it's Sunday—or the one after that. It's—okay, it's sort of weird, because he'd honestly got used to them. But it's good to not have to worry about the sender showing up in the middle of the night and murdering him.

Nick pauses while he's pouring out his tea. No. Okay, yeah, no, he certainly doesn't have to worry about that, right?

He gets a text not a moment later. It's from Harry, and all it says is, _I'm_ so _sorry, I wasn't even thinking when I gave him your address. He's coming over to apologise, okay?_

Nick stares at it, absolutely baffled. He sets the kettle down, still looking at his phone, and knocks his tea mug over. "Shit, fuck, bleeding fuck." He catches the mug before it rolls off the counter, but there's hot tea everywhere, and Harry's talking nonsense, and—and there's the doorbell. Everything is fantastic right now.

The doorbell rings again. "One second!" Nick calls. He stares at the mess on his counter, determines that he will deal with it later, and goes to answer the door.

At the door is Louis Tomlinson.

Nick is _so_ confused.

"Um," he says. "Hi?"

"Hi," Louis mumbles. "Can I come in or what?"

"I guess?" Nick says.

"Great," Louis says, and pushes past him to get inside.

"Right, then," Nick says, and closes the door.

Louis has walked all the way to his living room. He's staring at the art Nick has on the walls, ignoring Nick.

Nick clears his throat. He really hates being ignored.

"So," Nick says. "You going to tell me why you're here?"

"Yeah," Louis says distractedly. "Nice flat."

"Thanks," Nick says. That's right, Louis's never been here. For, like, obvious reasons. Starting with the fact that he's not Nick's friend. He's annoying and sarcastic, and sometimes he's downright hostile, and, honestly, he's often pretty funny, but Nick just hasn't spent that much time with him. He knows Louis as one fifth of One Direction, one of Harry's friends, and the person who started beef with him and therefore also one of the reasons his Twitter replies will never be the same. It's not the best of impressions.

Mostly, though, he knows Louis as that guy who never seemed that impressed by Nick, even years ago, when he was telling Nick to throw fruit and yogurt at Liam. Nick hadn't cared about Louis not being impressed, but he did care about whether people were nice to him, and Louis had been confusing and loud in this weird spiky way which had never read as _nice_. At least not to Nick.

So it's really, really fucking weird to see him standing in Nick's flat, trying to avoid Nick's eyes.

Nick narrows his eyes at him. "Come on, Louis. Why are you here?"

Louis finally turns to Nick, and meets Nick's gaze. He's wringing his hands, looking sulky and...guilty. Suddenly it all clicks.

"Harry," Nick says.

Louis raises his eyebrows, unamused. "No, I'm Louis. Sorry."

"Shut up," Nick says. "Harry texted me and said he gave someone my address. You—did _you_ send me those cards?"

Louis's face gets even more guilty.

Wow. Nick is honestly floored.

"It was you," he says. "I. What?"

"Maybe," Louis says petulantly.

"What?" Nick asks. "How? _Why?_ "

Louis shrugs. He clearly looks uncomfortable. Nick would revel in it if he wasn't so confused. "I was kind of, uh. Fucked up one night. Wrote a pile of messages. Gave them to Nancy, told her she shouldn't send them out all at once. I guess she kept sending them."

"Nancy?" Nick asks.

"She's in charge of my mail."

"Right," Nick says. "You...wrote me notes."

"I suppose," Louis says.

"I've been getting them for weeks now," Nick says. "How many did you _write_?"

Louis shrugs. "Like, a lot, I guess. I can't remember. I actually, uh, can't remember what I wrote in most of them." He says it very carefully. Nick's immediately suspicious of it, but he decides to pursue other questions.

"And you got my address from Harry?"

Louis squirms. "Yeah."

"Okay," Nick says. "Um. _Why?_ "

"Because I was drunk?" Louis asks, like that explains everything. Well, it maybe explains most thinks. But.

"You wrote me a pile of messages about how you'd totally get off with me just because you were drunk?"

Louis crosses his arms and looks away again. His cheeks have gone faintly pink. Nick has absolutely no clue what to do with this. He raises his eyebrows and waits.

"There were caveats," Louis says finally. 

"Fancy word."

"Shut up," Louis says, and sighs. "Look, I'm sorry, okay. I didn't mean to freak you out or worry you or anything. It was just a prank. So, sorry, I'll be off, yeah." He doesn't look at Nick once. Nick watches as he starts heading for the door.

"Wait," Nick says. "Wait, uh. Do you want tea?"

Louis turns and looks at Nick like he's talking complete nonsense. Which is rich, coming from him. "What?"

"Tea," Nick says. And then, "Oh, fuck."

He rushes back to the kitchen. Tea water is slowly dripping onto his floor. At least it shouldn't be hot anymore. He grabs a piece of kitchen roll and starts mopping it up.

"What are you doing?" Louis asks from the door.

"What does it look like?" Nick asks. "I knocked my mug over."

There's silence while Nick cleans. "Um," Louis says. "Do you want me to set the kettle again?"

"Sure," Nick says. "Thanks."

They work around each other awkwardly, Nick cleaning up and getting out another mug, Louis filling the kettle and getting out the teabags. Nick's trying to wrap his brain around it all, but he really, really can't.

"So," Nick says once they've sat down. "Is there, like, a specific reason why you being drunk led to—" He waves his hand. "To whatever those notes were."

Louis winces. "No."

"Right," Nick says. "That sounded very convincing. Bravo."

"Was just being an arsehole, I guess," Louis says slowly. He's staring very hard at his mug.

"You said you wanted to climb me like a tree."

Louis freezes. "I don't remember that."

"You sure?" Nick asks. "You also said you'd totally get off with me. Both with the lights on and the lights off."

"I never said that," Louis says quietly.

"Kind of did," Nick says. 

"Whatever," Louis says. His expression is odd; he looks almost scared.

"Well," Nick says. "They're less creepy now that I know who they're from, at least?"

Louis looks down. "I honestly didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," Nick says. It's not, really, but he understands bad drunk decisions, and at least he's fairly certain that _Louis_ isn't going to murder him in the night.

"Okay," Louis says. He cradles his tea in his hands and sips on it slowly. He's wearing a jumper with long sleeves that almost wrap over his hands, and his hair is an absolute mess. He looks tired and a bit fragile. Nick's surprised to feel a twinge in his heart.

"Did you really mean them?" Nick asks. "I mean, some of them were sort of. Well, a bit nasty, really."

Louis shrugs.

"Like," Nick says. "My hair isn't is bad as it could be?"

"It could be a lot worse," Louis says.

Nick laughs. "Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"No," Louis says. "It's just the truth."

"You're really weird," Nick says. And spiky. Louis is all spikes, really. Nick wonders if he can even give out a decent compliment without having to hide it.

"What about my arse?" Nick asks. "Looks pretty good?"

"Not as good as your legs," Louis says, and then immediately looks like he wishes he hadn't opened his mouth.

"I _know_ ," Nick says. "My legs look fucking amazing."

Louis's mouth quirks into the smallest smile. Nick feels so very awkward.

"And my fingers?" Nick asks.

There's a beat, and Louis's face goes red. Oh. Well, that's interesting.

"Really?" Nick asks, unexpectedly delighted.

"Fuck off," Louis mutters. He sounds resigned. "You're such an arse."

"Hey, it's okay," Nick says. "I think my fingers are pretty amazing, too."

Louis shakes his head and sets down the mug. "Whatever." He pulls the sleeves down over his hands and crosses his arms again.

"Hey," Nick says again. "It's fine. I mean, your flirting technique is weird, but it's fine. I, like, accept your apology and all that. And I don't mind, like, if you—" He pulls a face. "I don't know, think I'm fit, or something. It's. Uh. Natural?"

Louis stares at him. "Right. I think you're fit. That's it."

"Okay," Nick says.

"I mean, it's not like I properly fancy you," Louis says.

"Right," Nick says slowly. "That would be ridiculous."

"Yeah," Louis says softly. "Yeah." He looks down; his cheeks are still pink and he looks absolutely dejected. This is one of the strangest evenings of Nick's life. And he's not even drunk.

"I'm going to go, then," Louis says. "Since there's no proper fancying. Also, I'll get over thinking you're fit, don't worry."

"That's good," Nick says. "I think?"

"Right," Louis says, and gets up.

"Wait," Nick says. He's not sure what it is, but he doesn't really want to have Louis leave. Maybe it's how small he looks or the fact that Nick actually got him to smile for a second there. Whatever it is, he can't help but offer. "It's pretty late. Do you want to sleep on the sofa?"

Louis looks at him, confused. "Really?"

Nick shrugs. "Sure. People sleep on my settee all the time."

"Right," Louis says, quieter. "If you don't mind?"

"It's fine," Nick says. "I'll get you a duvet."

He almost misses Louis's quiet, "Thanks."

~

Nick's lying on his bed, furiously texting Harry.

Harry had sent him loads of messages whilst he and Louis were talking.

_is he there yet? Seriously, nick, I'm so sorry_

_Nick? Did he apologise?_

_Don't be too hard on him, okay? He's kind of messed up at the moment :(_

_Nick? What did he say?_

_niiiiiick_

Nick's first text back just says, _??????_

The second one says, _harry did you have any idea that louis tomlinson fancied me because I didn't_

Harry's answer takes a while. When it finally comes Nick has gone through all his twitter feed, all his instagram feed, cleaned out some of his inbox, and thought about going to check up on Louis exactly three times.

_I.. might have guessed?_

Nick stares at it.

_why the fuck didn't you tell me?_

_because it was private!_ Harry says. _nick, what happened?_

 _nothing_ Nick says. _he showed up, apologised, and said he fancied me_

_just like that?_

_well I said it was fine if he thought I was fit, it's just hormones, innit. And he said it wasn't like he fancied me. But he totally does!_

_wow. What are you going to do?_

_I don't fucking KNOW_

_I know he messed up_ Harry says. _But don't hurt him, okay? Like, let him down easy?_

Then he sends an aubergine emoji. Nick hates him.

He sighs and puts his phone away. It's almost midnight. Five hours of sleep, yay. He closes his eyes and tries to will himself to unconsciousness, but it doesn't work. Harry's text is going in circles in his mind.

Because that's really the question, isn't it? Does he _want_ to let Louis down?

Nick still doesn't have an answer by the time he falls asleep.

~

Louis doesn't wake when Nick gets up in the morning. Nick gets ready, gathers his stuff and then spends a few minutes just staring at Louis on the sofa. He feels profoundly creepy. Louis is curled up under the duvet, looking like he's trying to make himself as small as possible. The cover's half-slipping off him, though, so Nick steps closer to adjust it. 

Oh no. Oh no, he knows that feeling in his chest. He cannot be _fond_ of Louis Tomlinson.

Except he totally fucking is. And it's not exactly a new feeling, either. It's not like he ever noticed it before, really, but he still feels like he remembers it, from previous meetings, from interviews. Irritation. And a weird kind of fond.

Well, that's Nick fucked then.

His phone goes off with another message from the driver. Nick swears and rushes out, leaving Louis Tomlinson asleep on his sofa.

So, so fucked.

~

Louis is gone by the time Nick gets back.

The duvet is folded up and resting on the edge of the sofa. There's a half-empty mug of tea on Nick's kitchen counter.

There's a handwritten note on the table.

_Really sorry about last night. Don't worry, you can forget it ever happened. Thanks for letting me crash here. Sorry. PS, your toothpaste tastes weird._

Nick stares at it. He decides on two things. First, he's going to go buy another toothbrush. Second: he gets out his phone and texts Harry.

_hey, can I get louis's number?_

~

[EPILOGUE]

"I can't believe you wooed him with creepy anonymous messages," Liam says.

"They weren't creepy," Louis says.

"They were a bit creepy," Nick says. "I thought you'd come in and murder me in my bed."

Louis looks a bit chastened. "Really?" he asks.

"Just a bit," Nick says. "It's fine." He squeezes Louis's hand and Louis's expression clears.

"Sorry," Louis whispers.

"Now you're doing other things in your bed," Harry says happily. Nick almost spits out his drink, he starts laughing so hard. Liam looks caught between horrified and contemplative. Zayn just rolls his eyes.

"You know," Niall says. "Technically this was Harry's doing."

"I _know_ ," Harry says, and climbs into Niall's lap. "I _know_ , right? They should thank me." He's _so_ pissed. Ah, birthdays.

"Why is it _your_ doing?" Louis asks. "I sent the notes."

"I gave you the address," Harry crows.

Louis sticks his tongue out at him. Harry leans forward like he's trying to catch it. Louis pulls away and hides his face against Nick's neck.

"You're so ridiculous," Zayn says. He sounds very happy about it.

"It's good you didn't go to the police," Daisy says.

"You were going to go to the police?" Louis squawks.

"I thought about it!" Nick says. "You knew my _address_."

"That was _Harry's_ fault," Louis says. "I would never have given me your address."

"That doesn't make any sense," Niall says.

"I think it does," Liam says. "It's very Louis."

"Well, it all turned out well," Daisy says. "It's a proper story, too, isn't it?"

"Like a fairytale," Harry says.

"It's not like a fairytale, Haz," Louis says, but he sounds fond and kind of pleased.

"Proper fairytale," Nick says. "Anonymous messages about how fit my arse is. Sell it to Disney! We'll make millions!"

"You already have millions," Daisy says.

"I don't!" Nick says, indignant. "Billions. We'll make billions."

"Shut up," Louis says, and presses a kiss to the corner of Nick's mouth. He's pretty sure Louis is aiming directly at his mouth, but, well, they're all pissed.

"You love my arse," Nick says, and tugs Louis even closer.

"Maybe I do," Louis says, smiling. Nick grins and pulls him into a proper kiss.


End file.
